HOW TO BE A MISCREANT #6 by mister matt gasda
[Setting: Williamsburg Waterfront] [...continued] Pitchforkus: So you don’t agree Hipsocrates that part of being a musician is being recognized as such by people who have blogs? Hipsocrates: No, Pitchforkus, I don’t. Pitchforkus: But how can you tell the difference between a musician and a non-musician without a blog? Hipsocrates: Well, typically musicians have musical instruments and non-musicians don’t... Pitchforkus: Oh, a musical instrument? So you mean a giant tape-loop made from scrambled eggs played on a zither. Hipsocrates: I suppose that’s not not what I meant. Pitchforkus: I dunno, I don’t really see how you can have music without fucking around on something you built out of spare car parts you found in a dumpster in Bushwick... Hipsocrates: I think there are lots of ways to have music without spare car parts Pitchforkus. Pitchforkus: How? Name one! Hipsocrates: That seems unnecessary, my dear. Pitchforkus: But how are you going to get indie-popular without doing something just avant-garde enough to make people forget that you have absolutely nothing to say? Hipsocrates: Well that’s only an issue if you think that the goal of being a musician is to be indie-popular. Pitchforkus: You mean... you can think of something... something else for a musician to be... Like, other than indie popular. Hipsocrates: Yes Pitchforkus, that’s what I think. Pitchforkus: Like what Hipsocrates? Hipsocrates: Well, a musician could start by being real. Pitchforkus: Real? Hipsocrates: Yes, real. Don’t you know what reality is, Pitchforkus? Pitchforkus: No. I don’t. Hipsocrates: Ok, let me explainPitchforkus: Oh holy shit! I just saw on my iPhone that Pitchforkmedia is branching their festival brand out to Paris!!!!! Hipsocates: So you don’t want to hear about reality? Pitchforkus: Paris! Pitchfork! I’m swooning. Hipsocrates: I’ll save reality for another discussion... Pitchforkus: Bon Iver... Paris... His name is already Frenchified. It was so meant to be. I can’t wait to call my parents to ask for the plane ticket money. Hipsocrates: Are you sure you don’t want me to explain the essence of reality to you? Pitchforkus: Oh positive, what’s the point? Hipsocrates: The point is... oh fuck it. Pitchforkus: And Paris, yes I see it now. Like Brooklyn, but not ugly. And with French people. Oh I’ll have to reread all my favorite American novelists who idealize Paris and who I never actually read but heard about from graduate student friends Facebook quotes! Viva la France! Hipsocrates: So you’ve lost interest in discovery what it means to be a musician, I take it?
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Pitchforkus: Well, I know the answer now. Isn’t it obvious? It means getting invited to the Pitchfork Music Festival. Once that happens. You’re it. Hipsocrates: So you can play music and not be a musician because you haven’t played at the Pitchfork Music Festival yet? Pitchforkus: Yes... Hipsocrates: So Bach, Louis Armstrong, and Hendrix are all non-musicians? Pitchforkus: Who? Hipsocrates: Pitchforkus, have you ever listened to music made before 2001? Pitchforkus: You mean B.K.A? Hipsocrates: B.K.A.? Pitchforkus: Before Kid A- no. Hipsocrates: Ah. Then it never mind. Pitchforkus: You aren’t going to challenge me Hipsocrates? Turn my arguments on their head in a befuddling yet enlightening dialectical turn that obliquely hints at what you believe to be the basic problem at the root of our thinking? Hipsocrates: No Pitchforkus, I don’t think I’m going to do that Pitchforkus: Why not? Hipsocrates: I don’t see the point my beautiful boy. Pitchforkus: Why not? Hipsocrates: Because Pitchforkus, no matter what we say about the true musician, you’ll just consume music in the same way. Pitchforkus: And how’s that? Hipsocrates: By consuming it instead of listening to it. Pitchforkus: What’s the difference? Hipsocrates: (becoming ecstatic) The difference between consuming and listening is like the difference between sex and making love... It is the difference between the form of the sun and brilliant light of the sun itself! It isPitchforkus: Sorry Hipsocrates but I just got a text! There’s an Eleanor Freidberger show happening in a poor black person’s mind in Bushwick. Sweet! I’ll see you later Hipsocrates! (Pitchforkus runs offstage. 32 new coffeeshops open in Brooklyn. Hipsocrates shakes his head sadly) Hipsocrates: We’ll always have Paris...
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this issue is brought to you by leather. Single of the
Week
The Miscreant is loving the New Rochelles. And we are loving their leather jackets! Check out our favorite track “This Is My LJ” off the forthcoming album. It’s out August 16. Enjoy! 4
AUTOBIOGRAPHY poetry by kenzie weeks
When I was a child all things fit snugly like lids on Tupperware. The sappy, spiny lowest limb fit fortuitously waist high, a harrowing challenge but stickily enticing, and the goldfish-sized waist of Skipper (the Barbie castoff whose eccentricities suited me splendidly) fit satisfyingly between the loop of my thumb and pinky finger. Meant to be. Not just my playthings, but my mother’s bony shoulder blades, they fit (albeit reluctantly) in the crook of my father’s eager arm. And here I am, now Duchess of the violated cereal box, the Countess of the torn and shorn, and Mother Mary of puzzle pieces martyred by the dog. Here, see the CEO of the obstructed doorjamb, the courier of corrupted mail, chaplain to the valor-stricken ants who slept and dreamt of fermenting faith in the open maple syrup bottle. Here I am, frazzled womanchild, transfixed in the limbo between self-doubt and immortality, grasping at a meaning that good, Christian cleaning won’t scourge. I have learned, by error, by time, by the pure, majestic goodwill of coincidence, that nothing truly fits anymore and, anyway, Tupperware parties fell out of fashion years ago.
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the new rochelles a feature by the miscreant and her man mcclain
“This is my LJ / There are many like it, but this one’s mine” sing The New Rochelles. What’s an LJ, you might ask? “A LJ is a leather jacket, you pecker canary,” says Rookie Rochelle, bass player for the Long Beach pop-punk threepiece. Each member stresses that their jackets are just like Johnny Ramones’ jacket. The trio, who have known each other since high school, have stolen more than a couple of pages from The Ramones’ playbook, starting with their adoption of Ramones-style monikers, going by Ronnie (vocals, guitar), Ricky (drums), and Rookie (bass) Rochelle. The boys wanted, above all, to be in a band that paid homage to their heroes. They even wanted to sport a name that started with “The” and ended with “s.” These boys have no time to be coy about their primary influence; in fact, they wear it on their sleeves. Their leather jackets feature an assortment of pins selected for the distinct purpose of paying tribute to The Ramones. Although it’s trendy for musicians to play “spot-the-influence” with their listeners, The New Rochelles jokingly identify as “Ramones-core,” and while we don’t think of The Ramones today as “pop-punk” (because of the genre that claimed the name harder in the 90s) The New Rochelles bridge that gap and show us how that linkage is pretty apt. Since the boys can’t dress up as The Ramones for Halloween (they do that every day) they’re playing a Halloween show at Club Matchless in Brooklyn “as The Ramones.” On August 16th, the band will release their first full-length record, It’s New!, on Bright & Barrow Records. This will be Bright & Barrow’s first vinyl release. “The record is twelve songs in roughly fourteen and a half minutes of pure, unadulterated Ramonescore. In terms of format for the release I am huge record collector and vinyl nerd so it just made sense to me to have it be released in a format that I still believe in,” said Rookie. The vinyl version of the album will be pressed as a 7” with a few songs cut, but it will come with a download of the entire album for a meager $6. “Every punk rock band needs a vinyl release, so there you go,” said Ricky. The boys shot a video for their first single, “Did Something Bad” one hot July day on Coney Island. Rookie said, “It was a fun day. I ate my first hot dog in over ten years that day and it’ll probably be another ten years until I have another.” The video can be found at Punknews.org. After fans watch the video, they will have a chance to win a copy of the vinyl from Punknews. 6
s The band is looking at a jam-packed schedule, as they release the album. With several local shows on their docket, they plan on pushing the album in the New York area first. “The new album will be for sale online and at every New Rochelles show. Some merch is being processed as we speak and I’m sure a tour is in the works.” The band plans on an out of state tour and a new, surprise project with the start of the New Year. The band’s main prerogative lies in continuing their genre and making sure not to take things too seriously. (These guys love their fans and they love free pizza!) When asked why the love punk so much, they just say that they appreciate “the stupidity of it all.” It’s goofy and schtiky and, most importantly, full of “fun shit.”
catch the new rochelles live! Sunday, August 21st @ Lulu’s in Brooklyn, NY Thursday, August 25th @ Club Europa in Brooklyn, NY, opening for Michale Graves (from The Misfits) $10. Saturday, October 28th @ Club Matchless in Brooklyn, NY (as “The Ramones”)
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DON’T WORRY
by andrew “handy andy” mcclain I have a theory that there are only two types of strange art: 1) strange art made by normal people who hold strangeness as a value above all else. 2) strange art made by strange people, who are actually trying to make normal art. I usually find the first type of art to be fraudulent, contrived and disingenuous, and the second kind to be fascinating. I find that first variety of strange art to be misguided because they involve a certain blind embrace of values like “oddness” and “otherness,” and this, in my mind, does not count as a legitimate or valuable artistic ethos; it’s actually misanthropic sentimentality, born out of hatred for human sameness, and smug, empty, kneejerk-iconoclasm. The artist that I’m mostly talking about is this half-decade’s Radiohead, the band that dodges bad press the same way rappers dodge drug possession charges, the same way a cat always lands on four feet. I’m talking about Baltimore’s psych-pop powerhouse Animal Collective, whose every release, banal or otherwise, seems to get billed as innovative by the critical community at large. Nitsuh Abebe said “...one of the best illusions a musician can conjure is the sense that they’re driven by some other or greater impulse — that they’re tapping into some energy that exists totally outside the world of their making it and your listening to it. I do not, for the record, believe that Animal Collective are actually driven by anything so much grander than any other band; most all musicians strive for that vitality. It’s just that the sound of Animal Collective’s music has been remarkably good at signifying that ‘greater impulse.’” When I read that, I realized that the illusion that Animal Collective creates is what I find most off-putting, and probably the crux of what fans love, and what those of us who think that the overwhelming fandom and critical reception is a little bit overblown dislike so much. Maybe my feelings about Animal Collective are influenced by the nonmusical, non-art context surrounding their work. Maybe it’s that their stoic, introverted public image, extended-jam live shows, and dumb animal masks send a message to me that says “It’s serious art, motherfucker, and fuck you if you don’t get it.” It’s shock art’s cousin — preoccupied with creating a divisive sense of otherness, (I would, in fact, venture to say elitism, if I were about 2% more cynical) which is artistically irrelevant until it decides to focus on reflecting something poignant about the human spirit. Somewhere along the line it became impossible for me to listen to Animal Collective without also hearing a certain smug pleasure and self-assuredness in their own weirdness. They stitched their own freak flag and they’re flying it, smiling. So what is authentic weirdness? Well, let me to use the term “authentic” provisionally, at least as it relates to something that effectively seems genuine. Absolute, pure authenticity is such an enormously stupid concept because it’s something that lots of people claim to want to see in art, but almost no one wants to see all the way to its absurd conclusion (e.g. the hilariously misguided art-fuckery of Lars Von Trier’s “Dogme 95” manifesto). David Byrne is a weirdo. Or, at least, the collection of personas Byrne writes his music in seem to suffer
from an assortment of cognitive oddities, from sincerely nervous and paranoid, all the way to the Autistic spectrum, and further into sociopathy. It doesn’t seem like a person this strange should be able to make infectious pop music, but it actually seems to be his only method of reaching out to normal people, who he desperately wants to understand. So Talking Heads made music that sounded odd (and, more importantly, interesting and innovative) to us, but I’d posit that, in many ways, Byrne’s earnest aim was to make pop music. Listen to Byrne (who, for a lack of a more convenient foothold, sits in punk-rock canon, while in reality made music that was very much anti-punk) cover Whitney Houston and Al Green songs in his own twitchy manner, without even a vague hint of cheekiness or irony; you’ll feel as if this is only a reflection of what Byrne hears when he listens to pop music. Byrne’s music with the Talking Heads seems like a sincere effort at making normal, banal pop music, unintentionally distorted through his peculiar brand of savant-like sonic dyslexia, broken up and reassembled into dozens of moving parts, turning and cranking, each cog a different neurosis. Listen to the airtight “Don’t Worry About The Government,” a springy pop song with elastic guitar sounds. Listen to the insane, brainwashed rhetoric that makes up the entirety of the lyrics. Byrne has to remind himself of the importance of his “loved ones,” a term he uses with unnerving repetition. I don’t seek to sell Byrne short on being a brilliant person, and I don’t want to make it seem like he’s some sort of accidental genius; he knew what he was doing, but I don’t think that his approach was calculated to the point of being contrived. It’s interesting to note that all four members of Animal Collective and David Byrne all went to high school in Baltimore County, Maryland, though Byrne attended public school, while the AnCo kids were sent to private institutions, like the hyper-progressive Park School of Baltimore. I’m not sure that this is the fundamental difference between the two acts. In fact, I doubt it really means anything at all. But I’ll guess this: the boys in AnCo were relatively normal kids who understood the people they grew up with, hated them, and sought to be different from them, choosing do this through their music. Byrne, however, from birth lacked some kind of essential understanding of the people who surrounded him, and decided to use music to try to gain (or synthesize) this understanding.
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RECLAIMING THE CLOUT OF “CULT” by sir lance st. laurent
Outside the context of film, or any art for that matter, what does the term cult bring to mind? It should conjure up images of lunatics on the fringe of society obsessed with a philosophy that, to outsiders, makes no sense and seems like a sign of mental illness. Ideally, that is what a “cult film” should imply as well. In my bookcase, I have a handy, dandy little book that I bought in my years of devouring film knowledge like so many Pop Tarts (I was a fat film geek in high school). It’s called The Rough Guide to Cult Movies, and when I was 16 I loved it. Only now that my film snobbery has matured into its douchey college phase and my taste in breakfast pastries has been replaced with weed (followed by breakfast pastries) do I ponder the philosophical problems that I have with this book. It’s a book that you can literally judge by its cover, a cover graced by the lovely Uma Thurman donned in a black wig and a come hither stare. Any human being on the street would recognize it as the poster to Pulp Fiction, a masterpiece to be sure, but not a cult film. This book, though, is not the problem. It is just a symptom of a greater, troubling cultural trend that is labeling anything edgy, weird or tainted with the stench of genre into the category of cult. Pulp Fiction was a critical and commercial hit and a Best Picture nominee, yet it’s a cult film because it’s got a gimp and a speech about “dead nigger storage”. Ghostbusters was one of the biggest films of the 80s, yet it’s a cult film because it’s got ghosts and a kitschy theme song. You may be accusing me of knocking down straw men for the sake of making a labored point, but these are simply the easiest targets. Ideally, I believe that the label “cult” should be completely reduced down to its simplest essence. Do you know why Rocky Horror Picture Show was (note the past tense) the quintessential cult film? Because it had a literal subculture of people behind it that seemed weird to outsiders. The devotion to the film (which is admittedly a fun little film) is disproportionate to both the objective quality of the film AND the reaction of the general public, which makes it the ultimate cult film. That cult is dead now. It became something mainstream. I enjoying blaming bad things on Glee, so I’ll say that’s when it died, but the truth is it died once
everyone was in on the fun. Rocky Horror, though, is just the most notable casualty of cult over-exposure. Thanks to the internet, (I hate blaming things on the internet as much as I love blaming them on Glee), large swathes of the population realized that they all like The Big Lebowski / Donnie Darko / (shudder) The Boondock Saints. The internet had built and collapsed thousands of films that went from being secret treats to classics among the well-read, which is ultimately a good thing. Good films get seen by more people our collective tastes improve. Thank you, internet. The term cult, though, is left diluted. Genuine cult hits become over exposed and lumped in with weird blockbusters to form this nebulous, unsatisfying term. It can be fixed, though. “Cult film” can again be a term with meaning, and can be made stronger than it once was in our excessively connected culture. The first step is to allow cult to be an ephemeral, impermanent term. A cult can only exist as long as its members are on the edge of reasonableness, and yes, sanity. When that cult becomes mainstream, it ceases its existence. That is the most important change that can be made on a purely semantic level. The real, meaningful change comes at a personal level. Do you like a film? That’s cute, I like a lot of films, get lost. Does a film speak to you and only you in such a way that your love for this film distances you from friends and family who don’t understand your devotion? You’re on the right track. Do your internet searches for like-minded people yield few results that aren’t babbling idiots and the apathetic? Good. Do you and your few friends that share your love feel isolated and alone, that is unless you are watching the movie together, an experience that binds you together and reassures you that you’re not crazy? You’ve got yourself a cult, mister. Now go shave and wash off that crazy hobo smell - you’ve got potential viewers to convert. And remember, it’s not enough for people to like the film - you demand that they love it as much as you. This is why the term needs to be ephemeral. The best cult films shouldn’t stay that way for long. The truly deserving films will be championed by enough loud crazies that they will persuade the general population to accept the film as quality. The process only works, though, if these films lose their status as cult films when they ascend to the upper echelon of public consciousness, leaving the term for the truly unloved films championed by loud, unwashed bands of roaming weirdos that demand reassurance that their love is not wrong. P.S. - I feel like I’d be doing my readers (whoever you sad people are) a disservice if I didn’t tell them my a few of the films I personally (and loudly) champion to anybody that’ll listen. Unfortunately, I couldn’t fit them into my little opus you just read, so I’m putting them here. The big ones for me are In the Loop, a work of Strangelovian comedic genius; Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, an pitch-perfect spoof in an age where that doesn’t exist anymore; and Speed Racer, a film that is incredible despite also being kinda terrible.
art by mirrah stoller 12
NOTE TO SELF by gracie castañeda
Most of my classmates and college buddies partially know my taste in music either through my former position as the World Music Director of WERW or through the miscellaneous events I have participated in. I’ve only really started listening to Latin music since I started college. Being from the South in a predominantly Hispanic community, it was hard connecting with peers with a different upbringing. In turn, I turned to Latin music for the at-home feeling I hardly felt in Syracuse. But not many know of my involvement with music pre-college or what really inspired me to choose music business as a major. I started listening to punk when I was about 12, at the very start of middle school. My friends were odd kids, and being an odd kid myself, I found myself sharing music and bands that no kid my age would ever come across. Even at 12, I actively searched for local or “underground” bands to follow (Fun fact: I discovered Attack! Attack! when they were still just a local band from Ohio). But my first real epiphany was at the Vans Warped Tour in 2004. I still remember the day of the festival. The typical Houstonian summer weather: sticky, muggy, hot. But I didn’t care, I just wanted to see every band I possibly could on the tour. Man, the second I stepped inside the gates, it was like walking into heaven. Bands were already playing, lines and lines of merch tents were set up and kids were starting circle pits. I’d never seen anything like it before. That was the very same year that some of my favorite bands took off including Underoath and From First To Last. That was also the very same year I decided that the music industry was where I belonged. At 13 years old, little Gracie made her life decision...and that still hasn’t changed. Time flew, I grew and my playlists diversified. Screamo became popular, and of course I gave in and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Screamo led me to hardcore so on so forth. But for 2 years, I stepped back from these genres. It wasn’t until this past May when “Note To Self” by From First To Last was stuck in my head for an entire week that I realized how distant I had become from my roots. Since then, all I have listened to were bands from my childhood and their new projects. Will Latin still be a genre I dabble with from time to time? Of course! I know exactly what to turn to when I’m feeling homesick, but will it be the genre I decide to work with after my college years are over? At this point in my life, probably not. Although Latin always makes me feel at home, hardcore/ punk will always make me feel like myself. After all, I would never have decided to work in the music industry had it not been for every band I saw at my very first Warped Tour in 2004.
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BROOKLYN BEAT: XYLOFAUX
by lady karen edith millar Originally hailing from the good ol’ Midwest but now calling Brooklyn home, this trio, fronted by singer-songwriter Kyle Tigges, make music that Ben Gibbard (and undoubtedly many others) would be proud of. Presenting us with mellow and heartfelt songs carried by intricate rhythms and warm electronic textures, Xylofaux fuse a dynamic mix of harmonies and lyrics that will pull at your heartstrings, restoring our (as of late diminishing) faith in the fact that amongst the hoards of mediocre fucking hipster set-ups flooding the industry radar, there are still a few diamonds in the rough, making music that actually means something. The band continue to write and perform on a regular basis in New York City but will be announcing touring plans later this year – keep your ears tuned, these guys are definitely not one to miss. www.xylofaux.com/
xylofaux.bandcamp.com/
www.facebook.com/xylofaux/
FOURTEEN
a list by chelsea barker A recent study found that I, Chelsea Barker, am undateable. I decided to delve further into these findings in order to understand what is really wrong with me. I’m going to list the initials of every boy I’ve dated/seen/whatever with and divulge how the relationship ended: 6th grade •JM – He only asked me out because his best friend rejected me. Our relationship was based off of e-mail exchanges throughout the summer. I broke up with him and later introduced him to the girl he would date for 3 years. 7th grade •LK – We broke up over speculation that he made out with some girl at church camp. 8th grade •AS – He broke up with me because I wouldn’t make out with him. Right after our relationship ended, he started making out with LK. Being bi was the cool thing at the time. 9th grade •RW – He was my first serious boyfriend. We didn’t kiss until we had been dating for eight months. We ended things because he was Mormon and I constantly felt bad about not fitting in with his religion. •ML – This kid was undoubtedly the worst boyfriend I have ever had. His hobbies included stealing, getting high off Mucinex, and hating life. He broke up with me because “our puzzles pieces didn’t fit together.” Right after this he found Jesus so no one would believe me when I said he was an asshole. 10th grade •AA – This kid asked me to be his girlfriend over a Facebook message. To be fair, I did force him to ask me out. One time we went to the mall and he got me to steal a pair of sunglasses from Urban Outfitters for him. I broke up with him after a short 28 days of dating, but ended up heartbroken for months. I had issues. •AC – On one specific date his mom took us to see the movie Semi-Pro. Usher’s “Love In The Club” came on the radio and I had the bright idea to comment on Young Jeezy’s rap: “It’s funny how he lists having sex on the couch, on the table, and on the floor, but never mentions a bed. Isn’t that where it normally happens?” We broke up for one reason or another, I don’t really remember. •JA – This kid was the screamer in one of our local metal bands. I’m sure this relationship ended because I tried so damn hard to fit in. I was intimidated by his friends’ use of profanity and affinity for littering. He broke up with me through a text message after avoiding me for a week. 11th grade •MH – It was completely my fault for this relationship ending. It was at this time I discovered the powers of Stickam. “I can get all the attention I want from creepy strangers? Sign me up!” said 17 year old me. I met this kid online who lived about two hours away. I started doing “bad things” with him from my mom’s webcam. He wanted to visit me, but I said no; therefore, he threatened to leak my videos online. I had to tell my boyfriend, my parents, and get my number changed. I drew a huge letter A on my stomach for weeks after that. I felt like such a horrible person. •DB – He was my second serious boyfriend. My love for boys in metal bands didn’t stop with JA. Derek was in a Christian metal band that in my eyes was “going places.” I started going to church, traveling to shows with them, and actually started fitting in with “the scene.” We broke up because he started getting really serious about moving to where ever I had planned on going to college. His family is from Syracuse and was the first to introduce me to the school. You can blame him for knowing me. 12th grade •NB – He and I were best friends all throughout high school. I messed up things between us after telling him I wanted to go to prom with RW, and not him. He’s wanted me to die ever since. •PM – This “thing” started off with coffee dates and hooking up in his church and later ended with getting high for the first time and thinking his dick was a dinosaur. I didn’t realize it was just a hook up thing for him and ended up getting hurt. This was my first foray into the world of friends with benefits. •JM – This kid took me to prom. I forgot we dated back in seventh grade, but that was weird so I’ll just leave him here. I fell for him and he just wanted someone to sleep with. He also loved Jesus a lot and listened to worship music after we did it. •CB – I kind of played with this kid’s emotions, but he ended up deserving it after he got mad at me for not sleeping with him. He later called me crying saying he wished he could take it all back. He still tries to get with me. I’m going to stop there because I feel the rest are all too recent to mention. From this summary, I’ve learned that I’m pretty pathetic when it comes to dating. If anything, I hope you’ve learned what not to do in a relationship. I hope you’ve enjoyed this stroll down memory lane, as I have not.
WANT MORE MISCREANT? Thank you all for reading this here 7TH issue of ‘The Miscreant.’ I’m currently scouring the internet for pictures of puppies in leather jackets while listening to the New Rochelles. I hope you all enjoy the new album. The songs are great, and the boys really are true miscreants. An quick announcement: Next issue will be the last online-only issue. Starting issue 9, Lizzy and I will be printing them for your viewing pleasure. Please visit the Facebook page and stay tuned for updates! Send your ghost stories, love poems, and water colors, etc to: themiscreantt@gmail.com. Love, the miscreant